Alea Iacta Est
by jarebear20
Summary: CS AU: After watching her partner die in her arms, police officer Emma Swan accepts the position of Storybrooke's sheriff as a last ditch effort to escape the pain. The quiet of the small Maine town proves to be the balm she needs, as is the unexpected attention from the town pariah. But then a startling act of violence changes everything, and threatens the new life Emma has made.


_**A/N:**__ Here we are, at the start of a new fic. The idea for this has been brewing in the back of my mind for some time, and it is a great pleasure and relief to finally start on getting it out._

_The title is a latin phrase, which means 'the die has been cast.' Another way of seeing it is 'the point of no return.' I'll let you guess the meaning behind that. _

_For the record, this is an AU Captain Swan fic. There is no curse, no magic. Just ordinary people in a small town on the coast of Maine._

_This is unbeta-ed, so any mistakes you see are mine. _

_As always, if you read, please leave me a review. I love getting feedback from readers._

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**Chapter One**

_We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us. -Joseph Campbell_

As she drove the 1562 miles from Tallahassee, Florida, to Storybrooke, Maine, Emma Swan once again asked herself the same question she'd been asking herself for the past year and a half.

Had she lost her fucking mind?

It was not the best thing to ask when she more than twenty-three hours into the longest drive of her life. She might not have been questioning herself so much if she had stopped at that motel outside of Boston like she'd originally planned, but she had been eager to just be done with the driving that she had just plowed on ahead.

She should have flown in. Why hadn't she flown in?

As if on cue, the visor above her came loose and dropped into her lap. Oh right, she thought as she tossed it in the seat next to her. She had a car. Her beloved yellow Volkswagen. One of the only things she had fought tooth and nail for in the divorce.

Probably should have fought harder to save her marriage, but Emma had long since resigned herself to failure in that particular aspect of her life. She'd been too far gone to work up the energy to care.

Looking back now, she could see she'd thought herself apathetic. What did any of it matter at the end of it all? She was a twenty-eight year old divorcee with absolutely no prospects. Answering the ad for the position of sheriff of a town over one thousand miles away seemed like a good way to escape the wreck her life had become.

When she'd actually got the position, Emma had taken it as a sign.

Her friends tried to change her mind. She was clinically depressed, a result of the accident and subsequent divorce. Making decisions like this on a whim were a bad idea. She needed to stay there, where she could surround herself with a strong support system.

Now, she had to ask herself the very thing she had when they had cornered her: why did it feel like she was being smothered?

Oh, she could have listened to her captain and the shrink they sent her to. She could have taken her pills like a good little girl, jumped through the hoops they dangled in front of her. She would have done it and more, all with a smile on her face.

But she had wanted a change, so she had tossed her badge and severed all ties to her past life in Tallahassee. And now she was driving towards her final resting place, for better or worse.

Seeing her exit coming up, Emma flicked on her turn signal and followed the turn off until she was on a two lane road. Before too long, a sign welcoming her to Storybrooke stood off to the side of the road. She felt the knot in her stomach begin to loosen. Almost there.

Her driving slowed when the first of the buildings came into view. By the time she reached what looked to be the town hall, she'd reduced the speed to a respectable crawl. Pulling into an open spot between a truck and what could only be described as a rust bucket on wheels, Emma shut off the ignition and got out.

"Miss Swan."

The sound of her name spoken so formally had Emma tensing up. Turning, she saw a dark-haired woman in a sharp business suit and killer high heels walking towards her. She forced herself to relax.

"Mayor Mills. Didn't expect you to be part of my welcoming committee."

"Regina. I make it a point to meet everyone who comes to my town." She nodded at Emma's car. "Did you bring any luggage you need to grab?"

"Yes." She'd brought everything she'd taken away from the divorce, all of which could fit in a suitcase, duffle bag, and carry-on bag. She could feel the mayor's gaze boring into the back of her head as she got them out of her trunk.

But when she finally turned back to the woman after securing everything, Regina didn't say anything about it. Instead, she said, "Good. Come with me, Miss Swan."

Turning on her heels, she began walking away. The woman's quick strides had Emma blinking in surprise.

Hell.

When she caught up-boy, that woman could move-she caught the mayor smiling. "I'm going to show you where you'll be staying. You can rest for a few hours before I show you the rest of the town, including where you'll be working. You're a long way from Tallahassee, Miss Swan."

"So I'm starting to gather."

Tallahassee was large and had buildings that stretched towards the heavens. The tallest building in Storybrooke appeared to be the clock tower, which didn't even seem to have a working clock. The rest of the buildings were neat and charmingly old-fashioned, like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. Or a production set.

"I'm hoping Storybrooke will be a good place to start fresh," Emma admitted.

"Most who come here are looking for just that. New beginnings. I have high hopes for you, Miss Swan." Regina cast her a sideways glance. "It goes without saying that I expect you to do your job, no matter the personal baggage you may be carrying."

The comment put Emma more on edge. "I made a promise to do my job, Mayor Mills. I don't break my promises."

"Good." She stopped in front of a curved lane. "This is Granny's Bed and Breakfast. Owned by Granny Lucas, who also owns and runs Granny's Diner."

"Original," Emma observed.

This time it was she who began to walk, forcing the mayor to keep up in order to continue their conversation. "You have a room here, paid by part of your salary. If you decide the place isn't to your liking and you want to stay somewhere else, that's on you. The place is well kept. Granny will treat you well."

Emma reached the front door first and opened it to find herself swallowed by warm air and the blessed scent of freshly baked goods.

The lobby was about the size one would expect from a small town B&B. It was decorated in warm shades of gold and brown, the perfect complement to the rich mahogany furniture. There was a large open section of wall that seemed to lead into some sort of sitting room. A quick glance inside revealed several comfy looking chairs, a bookcase, and a fireplace certain to keep things comfy and cozy during the winter.

Somewhere behind her, a door opened. Tearing her gaze from the room, Emma saw the Granny of Granny's Bed and Breakfast. And boy did she look the part. Curly grey hair pulled back in a loose bun, half-moon glasses perched on the end of a nose that bent ever so slightly to the left. Clothing that looked like it was worn for comfort rather than style.

"You must be the new sheriff," Granny said with a smile that made Emma feel as if she'd been wrapped in a warm quilt.

She wondered if Granny knew how to knit.

"Yes, this is Emma Swan, our sheriff." Regina stepped forward, catching Granny's attention. "She's just flown in from Florida."

"Huh. Nice weather down there, I hear."

Emma nodded. "The best."

"I'm supposing you'll want the key to your room now." Reaching into the cubby of keys, Granny found the one she wanted. "Here you go. It's just up the stairs, to your right."

"Thank you, Granny Lucas."

"Oh, just call me Granny," the woman said with a wave of her hand. "Everyone else does. Do you need anything?"

Here, the mayor jumped in. "Could you send some food up? I'm sure the Sheriff could use a hot meal now. The day's special will be fine. Come on, Sheriff. You look ready to drop."

She was tired, come to think of it. Emma hadn't slept for over thirty-six hours. She was running on fumes. She also could have spoken for herself, but there didn't seem to be much of a point. Mayor Mills did as Mayor Mills wished and there was little anyone could do to stop it. Her feet dragging, Emma followed the mayor up the stairs like she was her lady in waiting.

Her position as the new sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine, afforded her a room painted in a warm tan color, with a bed, dresser, desk, and a couple of chairs for furniture.

It was….quaint.

She dropped her things where they wouldn't get in the way until she needed them. Turning, she watched the mayor, who was speaking.

"Kitchenette is to your left, bathroom to your right. It's not much, but I do have a budget to maintain. If you aren't completely set on making your meals here, I recommend going to the diner. It's affordable and within walking distance of the station."

"Knock, knock." Granny stood at the door, a tray of food in her hands. She stepped inside and went to put the tray on the desk. "Ruby—that's my granddaughter-wasn't answering at the diner, so I got you a few things from my kitchen here. Beef stew and a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. I hope that's alright."

"It's fantastic. Thank you." Emma waited a beat, then said, "Uh, not that I want to appear ungracious or anything, but it really has been a long trip and I-"

"Oh, of course!" Granny laughed. "Look at us, standing here like we need you to entertain us. You get some rest dear. If you need anything, I'll just be in the lobby. Welcome to Storybrooke, Sheriff Swan."

The mayor had one last thing to say, just as Emma knew she would. "Your first order of business, Sheriff, will be addressing the council tomorrow afternoon. You might want to have a speech ready."

With those parting words, the two women left, shutting the door behind them.

Emma waited until she was certain Granny and Madam Mayor were halfway down the stairs before she turned the lock, the click obscenely loud in the silence. Then she unzipped her leather jacket, tossed it on the old-fashioned looking chair near the door, removed her hat, dropped it with her wallet and keys on the desk in the corner. Took off her boots, left them by the bed.

Stripping until she was in nothing but a pair of boy shorts and a cotton tank top, she went over to where Granny had placed her supper, took the bowl of stew and a spoon, and gravitated with both to one of the windows.

Five forty-five in the evening, according to the carriage clock on the nightstand. The glow of the sun was starting to disappear, and as Emma stood there spooning bits of stew into her mouth, streetlamps began to light up. Shops across the street glowed, and she could barely make out some of the wares in their windows.

Townspeople scurried around below, the bright colors of their clothing making them stand out against the bleakness of the surrounding buildings.

She went through the motions of eating every last drop of the stew, too exhausted to really notice anything other than it was hot.

This place was so surreal, she thought, like she had just stumbled onto the set of some quaint television show. Any second now the director would yell "Cut!" and a stage crew would come out to disassemble the false storefronts before her. The people outside would drop the act and head back to their trailers to brush up on the next scene.

Perhaps this was a dream, an intricate design constructed in her mind from an inability to come to grips with reality. Maybe she was too far gone for even the best of doctors to save, and this was her St. Elsewhere.

Her body could be laying on some hospital bed, hooked up to wires and tubes to keep the nutrients necessary for life being pumped into her.

Emma grabbed the sandwich, chewed that at the window as well, watching the world continue to go on like nothing had changed.

She could go out into that world, become a character in the show. Say the lines decided by some off-screen entity, have her strings pulled by someone else. And when all was said and done, the screen would cut to black and the credits would roll.

As she stood there, thinking that maybe having the credits roll wasn't a bad thing, someone stepped onto the set. Wearing nothing but black-a stark contrast to the sea of color it floated in-it moved like a sleek panther in search of its prey.

Cold and calculating. Movement with intent, a purpose she could envy. I know what I want, it said, and I know exactly how to get it.

Unless there were women in Storybrooke that liked to have stubble on their faces, this person was definitely of the male variety. There was something about him, maybe an aura of confidence, which captivated her attention.

Almost as if he knew he was suddenly under scrutiny, the man stopped under one of the streetlights, and looked up.

Her breathing hitched slightly as the contact with those icy blue eyes hit her with a one-two punch in her stomach. Still, she refused to break eye contact, until eventually he was forced to look away and continue on his way. She continued watching him, followed him with her eyes until he disappeared into the diner. Letting out a small huff, she drew the curtains closed and stepped away from the window.

Ignoring her luggage, Emma curled up on the bed and hugged her pillow to her chest.

She'd get an hour nap, she promised herself. Then she'd take a nice hot shower, wash away the grit of traveling all day, and drown herself in caffeine.

After that, maybe she would figure out what her next move was.


End file.
